Forgive Me
by Smashing Teacups
Summary: "She was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of Meereen, the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons. She had risen from the ashes of the temple of the Dosh Khaleen as a conqueror, baptized by fire and blood. And she was a fool." Dany reflects on Jorah, 6x05.


All attempts to engage the khaleesi in conversation during the ride out of Vaes Dothrak failed miserably. At first Daario tossed out a few witty remarks, hoping to get her to crack a smile; his efforts quickly fizzled into an uneasy silence. The queen's eyes were set straight ahead, her back rod-straight in the saddle, her face stony and unyielding. A hundred thousand Dothraki followed her into the Great Grass Sea that morning – the largest army in the world. Combined with her dragons and the Unsullied, the Iron Throne was, for the first time, unquestionably within her grasp. She needed only to reach out and take it.

She was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of Meereen, the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons. She had risen from the ashes of the temple of the Dosh Khaleen as a conqueror, baptized by fire and blood.

And she was a fool.

Beneath her mask of composure, waves of grief battered her over and over again against the jagged shore of guilt. Her Bear was dying. He was dying, and it was her fault.

 _Forgive me…_

His words rumbled in her very bones. Daenerys hadn't been able to look him in the face when he knelt before her, confessing his treason and imploring forgiveness. She knew now what she would have seen if she had. It was written there plainly; it always had been. Everyone else could see it. Perfect strangers – Xaro Xhoan Daxos, Tyrion Lannister – had recognized it almost immediately. She had always been irritated by their assertions, deflecting them like buzzing insects. The truth had been inconvenient to her, so she had simply refused to acknowledge it.

 _You sold my secrets to the man who killed my father and stole my brother's throne. You want me to_ forgive _you?_

Her anger had been righteous. Jorah had betrayed her from their very first introduction, and that wound cut deeper than any she had ever known. She trusted no one in this world more than Jorah – her Bear, who had offered comfort and companionship when she was a frightened child, thrust into an unwanted marriage, lost in a horde of strange people speaking a strange language. Her Bear, who had saved her from the wine merchant's poison. Her Bear, whose skin blistered and split in the scorching heat of the Red Waste, who never once spoke a word of complaint as he followed her through the desert. Her Bear, who found her a sound ship with a good captain to sail her safely away from Qarth. Her Bear, whose wisdom she continually relied on, whose opinion she valued above all others. He was her first true friend in the world, the first person who had ever shown any interest in what _she_ thought, how _she_ felt.

Yes, he had failed her. He had made a terrible mistake in the pursuit of his own self-interest. And once he realized that his priorities had shifted – that "home" was no longer the thing he prayed for – he had spent the next five years attempting to make it up to her, proving his loyalty time and again.

He loved her.

He loved her, and he was dying. And it was her fault.

 _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..._

He hadn't allowed her apology, just as she had not allowed his. But where her refusal had been cold, driven by rage and the sting of betrayal, in Jorah's there was only warmth, loyalty, selflessness. He had always said that he would serve her, die for her. She had taken his oath for granted, never truly considered what it was that he was offering. He had literally gone to the ends of the earth to find a way back into her good graces, and even then, _even then_ , she had rejected him. Her heart ached over the realization that he had been hiding the greyscale from her as he stood at the base of the Great Pyramid with Tyrion, humble and imploring even as the fresh poison slithered through his veins.

She did not deserve him. No matter her titles, her birthright. She was the most powerful woman in the world, and the quiet, unwavering love of a gruff old knight was breaking her heart.

It was all she could do to cling to the hope that, somehow, Jorah would be able to fulfill her final command. She knew that he would succeed, or die trying. And if he – if he was unsuccessful… at least Daenerys had the small comfort of knowing that she had finally told him that she needed him, too.

But she couldn't think like that. She had sent him away twice, and twice he had returned to her. He would do so again. It seemed he was incapable of staying away from her for long. She clutched fiercely to that thought, and dreamed of their imminent reunion, and all the things she would say to him when he finally returned to her.

There was much yet that needed to be said.


End file.
